thE_sIn_chronicles
by dEAdlysIn
Summary: Chapter 2 now up, and more to come after the holidays IF I get some response on this story...
1. The Tournament/The Challenge

thE_sIn_chronicles  
  
Prologue  
  
The Tournament was described by some as barbaric, while others viewed it as valid entertainment, citing the ancient Romans and the Gladiators in their arguments. Thankfully, the latter group won the argument, and the Tournament was legalized, and new technology was brought out of development to aid the participants in their quest to be hailed as the "Grand Master Clan."  
  
One of the most important advances was the invention of the spawner. This gave the participants many extra chances in their bid for the crown. This device bound to the person's soul and allowed them to be resuscitated within a second of death. The only downside was the fact that it could only be used once a day, but after that, it would once again be good to go.  
  
Chapter One  
  
The Challenge/The Tournament  
  
I was a member of Clan |{TZsK}|, the most elite group of mercenaries- for-hire in the entire sector. Not once had any one of our victims been able to take a shot at us; we went in, got the job done, cleaned up our mess, and walked away as if nothing had happened. Some people knew about us, others didn't. It really didn't matter much to me. Some of my associates, most notably Black Dragon, didn't like it at all. He wanted to be known worldwide as the greatest hit man who'd ever lived. I then pointed out that over the course of the eighty-two hits we've pulled off, I knocked off seventy-six of the main objectives by myself. He shut up after that one.  
  
The Tournament had first piqued our interest when we saw a well-known clan, the -=IFH=- on the news as champions of the Experienced Division. The entire clan was agape when the leader of Clan  
  
-=IFH=- publicly exclaimed this: "If Clan TZSK is watching us, we invite you to finally learn what defeat really is. Join the Skilled Division and step up to the challenge, or else all your bases are belong to us!"  
  
Black Dragon, Dream Destroyer, iNSaNe_J, and I laughed hysterically at the clan's challenge. When the laughter stopped, Dragon looked at me and asked, "They think they're so tough, eh? Let's go sign up. Maybe there's a PR guy down there to take our statement."  
  
"If we do, we're going to need to hurry up. We have a job tonight, remember?" I replied.  
  
"True, but, they're going to ask for our real names when we go down, then our 'Stage Names', remember? It IS an organized Tournament, correct?" asked J.  
  
"Ah, who gives a shit? We'll just cover like we always do, right sIn?" was Dream's response.  
  
"Ok then, ladies." I said. "Let's do this shit."  
  
15 minutes later  
  
We arrived at the Arena around 7:30 pm. As was stepped out of our cars, the reporters swarmed around us like flies on a piece of shit. I pushed my way through the throng and made it inside, where a man at a desk told me to sit and fill out a form to enter the Tournament. After the rest of my clan entered, he explained when we fought and gave us a description of the weapons and a Clan Listing, which automatically updated whenever a clan lost, won, forfeited, or dropped out. As J had pointed out earlier, the first question on the form asked for your real name. I wrote "Matthew Hadder". The following line asked what clan I was from. I wrote "Clan |{TZsK}|." The next line was 'Alias inside the Tournament'. I wrote down "dEAdly_sIn". Next to that line I jotted, "Don't fuck up the caps." The line underneath asked for my age. I wrote "23". Upon completing the form, my information was uploaded to the Tournament's main computer, and my Clan Listing flashed to life, giving me the time and date of our first match. It was only 19 hours away. We were to fight Clan [bpd], the Bastard Psycho Demons. They entered three times before and fought fifteen matches, but came out on top only twice.  
  
"What the fuck do they think they're doing, putting us with a clan of their caliber?" said Dragon.  
  
"Who the hell knows?" I replied. "It could be because this is our first time in the Tournament."  
  
"Who really gives a shit, huh?" commented J. "We have some shit to pull tonight, and if we don't pull it, we don't get paid, we lose our respect, and we lose our chance at this Tournament. Besides, if nothing else, this hit tonight should, at the very least, prepare us for the Tournament."  
  
"All right, guys, let's go over this plan back at the compound, ok?" asked Dream.  
  
We walked outside and got swarmed by twice as many reporters as before. I finally stood my ground and yelled out, "Hey, assholes! Over here! You've come to get our opinion on the challenge? Here's our opinion on the challenge!" I flipped off the reporters. Flashbulbs snapped, people yelled out questions as to why the -=IFH=- wanted to see us there, why we came so quickly to sign up, what we thought about our first opponent, and why I was flipping them off. I kept my finger raised for the entire crowd, and after the flashbulbs stopped flashing, I brought my hand down. "People of the media!" I yelled. The crowd finally fell silent. "Thank you. We don't care what the fuck anyone says about anything, ok? If the IFH wants to fight us, we'll fight them. Why they don't just give up the title to us right now is beyond me, but I guess this Arena Fighting thing-type-deal is all for the crowd. So you know what? We'll give the crowd the best damned show they've ever seen in their lives, bar none. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have more important shit to do than talk." After that last comment, the reporters moved out of our way and let us pass. It was about time people knew how good we were at what we did.  
  
  
  
deadly_sIn  
  
deadlysin@blazemail.com  
  
http://www.crosswinds.net/~deadlysin21  
  
Representing Clan |{TZsK}|  
  
Death, Destruction, Mayhem!  
  
Last Updated:  
  
December 5th, 2001  
  
Author's Notes:  
  
The UT wing of |{TZsK}| needs members! E-mail me to join!  
  
On the topic of clans, Clan -=IFH=- was my old TFC clan, which I lead to an 11-0 record. We broke up when we realized that each of us had our own personal goals to achieve. iNSaNe and I are the ex-members of -=IFH=- that created |{TZsK}|. Dream Destroyer and Nocturnal Badger are the only other two ex-IFHers to serve in |{TZsK}|. 


	2. First Blood

Chapter Two  
  
First Blood  
  
Ever since the Covert War in 2109, where many hit men sacrificed their lives in hope of not being alienated anymore, the government has allowed all hit men to obtain a 'License To Kill'. Showing this card to law enforcement would allow you to kill anyone, if you get paid. The downside is that 50% of your pay goes to the government. It was a small price to be able to kill.  
  
The night was cold, as was usual on the colony. My hand rested on my pistol, the only known thing in this alien environment. The weather sucked, but the pay was great; one hundred thousand credits PLUS ten thousand for each of his bodyguards. It seemed like a simple mission. I glanced at my watch. 11:59.32 pm. Only 28 more seconds till Operation Unreal kicked in. I took a moment, as I always did, to close my eyes and focus. I thought of all I had accomplished, all I have met, and all I have killed. The kills were sometimes gratifying, such as the extortionist who sold people to be used for spare body parts, other times, they weren't. I didn't have time to think about those, however. I began feeling warmer; an obscure type of meditation I discovered at the age of eleven. I drew energy from the surrounding land and turned it into my own. My watch vibrated. It was go time.  
  
I pushed the glass door open and walked inside the bank. My trained eyes spotted a single guard and multiple cameras. I didn't care about the cameras, however. My main concern was a male, 34 years old, jet-black hair, five-eleven, wearing a red suit with a black hat. Mr. Olnbaid was his name. His office was on the third level. It would be one hell of a time getting up there. One hell of a time getting down, too. I smiled at the secretary. "Is Mr. Olnbaid in?" I asked.  
  
"That depends." Came her reply. "Do you have an appointment?"  
  
"Mr. William W. Webster." Was my response. "I believe it's a midnight appointment."  
  
"Yes, Mr. Webster. The first set of stairs on the right will lead you to his office."  
  
"Thank you." I said.  
  
I began walking towards the staircase when I heard the distinct sound of a gun being cocked. A Colt .45, a very rare type made in the pre-war era. One of those bullets could nail an elephant to a steel beam. I walked a little faster and exclaimed, "Wow, it's hot in here! Maybe a horse could stand up to the heat, but I can't!" My message was relayed to my entire team, who were already in position. I didn't really need my team's help. Then again, I didn't really need my cover blown. I felt it before I heard it; someone was attempting to hold up the bank. "Great," I thought to myself. "Just fucking great."  
  
A piece of tile, about two inches away from my left arm, was shattered into thousands of pieces. I dove to the right. The resounding -boom- from the gun was all the information I needed to confirm my Colt .45 theory. Alarms, which should have ringed, didn't. These guys were good; their only problem was that they pissed me off. Coming out of my dive, I flipped backwards and got shot at again, this time with a Glock. Were these the guys who just robbed the antique weapons shop a few blocks away? "Tangos in the bank, tangos in the bank!" yelled one of the security guards, but to no avail. He and I were the only armed ones in the building that didn't intend on stealing money.  
  
"Everybody get the fuck down NOW!" ordered one of the robbers, a short, stocky male. Leveling his Colt at me, he smirked and cocked it a third time. A small chuckle escaped my lips. "What the fuck is so goddamn funny?" he inquired.  
  
"You missed me the first time." I calmly stated. This time, it was his turn to laugh.  
  
"I missed you on purpose, you dumb shit. If you want to tempt luck again, asshole," he said, moving his sights on the Colt up to my head, "try me."  
  
At that moment, the glass doors opened, turning the short guy's attention away from me. A man in his early twenties, clad in a black cloak, walked up to the short robber, apparently unaware of the gun in his hand. The short guy's lit up as he spoke. "This is what happens when I don't miss." He turned the gun to the newcomer. "Tonight, your luck sucks."  
  
"Fuck you." was the cloaked man's reply. In one fluid motion, the cloak dropped from his shoulders and the cold metal of two Ingram Mac-10's pressed against the short guy's forehead. Dream Destroyer smirked as he squeezed both triggers. In an instant, the short guy's soft pink brains splattered against the wall about thirty feet away. Crimson blood, mixed with pearl-white bone, stained the multiple-colored carpeting. Sixty rounds of Jacketed Hollow Point ammunition later, the blood-soaked submachine guns fell silent. The short guy's head was ripped from his shoulders just after the initial shots were fired, spraying the surrounding area in chunks of bloodstained bone, tissue, and muscle. Before the dislocated head hit the floor, I was on my way up the first set of stairs on the right. I had a job to do.  
  
  
  
deadly_sIn  
  
deadlysin@blazemail.com  
  
http://www.crosswinds.net/~deadlysin21  
  
Representing Clan |{TZsK}|  
  
Death, Destruction, Mayhem!  
  
Last Updated:  
  
December 5th, 2001  
  
Author's Notes:  
  
The UT wing of |{TZsK}| needs members! E-mail me to join!  
  
On the topic of clans, Clan -=IFH=- was my old TFC clan, which I lead to an 11-0 record. We broke up when we realized that each of us had our own personal goals to achieve. iNSaNe and I are the ex-members of -=IFH=- that created |{TZsK}|. Dream Destroyer and Nocturnal Badger are the only other two ex-IFHers to serve in |{TZsK}|. 


End file.
